


Fate: Twisted Games

by IfWallsCouldMuke



Series: Fate!SOS [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: (???), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Sex, Lancer! Luke, M/M, Mage! Michael, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 21:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16026116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfWallsCouldMuke/pseuds/IfWallsCouldMuke
Summary: He whispers a new Contract as they finish together, a sheen of black light shadowing them.OR,Fate game series inspired fic. Please note that I made up Lukas/Luke's lore.





	Fate: Twisted Games

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY MUKE DAY!

Michael has been training all his life for this. Needless to say, he  _has_  to win. His  _Vater_  didn’t die in vain, nor did his  _Mutter_ , as a subsequent result.

Currently stood inside the sigil, he recites the invocation; light explodes everywhere. Cursing, Michael closes his eyes.

When Michael opens his eyes again, a tall blond with a somewhat sunbathed complexion wearing what seems to be a Greek armour is glaring at him. He arches a brow at the Servant.

“I can’t believe some kid managed to summon me,” the Servant grits out. “I was expecting someone who wouldn’t make decisions on a whim.”

“Well,” Michael smirks, holding out his palm, where his Command Seals appeared when the Servant appeared. “This says you are to obey me.”

“ _K_ _ólasi,”_  the Servant curses (Michael is totally guessing, he’s German). “Of course the first time I get summoned in such a long time, I get a cocky, arrogant, good-for-nothing—”

“Listen here,” Michael cuts his Servant off. “Whether you like it or not, we are bound by rules that are ancient, _verstehen?_ ”

“ _Kristall_ ,” the Servant sounds reluctant. “Oh, by the way, even though your language was developed, say, thousands of years after mine, technically, I am to adapt to my Master’s country, I s’pose. You can say shit in German all you’d like, I still will understand.”

“ _Tausenden von Jahren, du sagst?”_  Michael perches himself on the armrest of his black faux leather sofa. “I thought I couldn’t be so sure, but you’re… an ancient Greek, aren’t you? Someone I may have forgotten about the possibilities of summoning… well fuck, I’m out of luck if that’s the case… Greek heroes aren’t really popular here…”

“So, you aren’t as brainless as I thought, are you¸  _Meister_?” the Servant grins. “Are you able to tell my Class then?”

“Who do you think I am, an idiot? I’m a well-trained mage,” Michael scoffs. “You’re one of the Knight Classes, to start with… I hope you shed your armour were you ever to be seen with me… and you’re carrying a  _dory_ , so you’re obviously the Lancer.”

“I shouldn’t have underestimated your abilities… after all, you exude more mana than you really should for someone your age,” Lancer shrugs. “Shall we begin?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been training all your life for this, yeah? To win the Holy Grail War?” Lancer’s lips stretch into a smirk.

⇚◊»

“You know, normally, it’d be for  _your_  own good if you were to tell me your True Identity,” Michael tells his Servant. He’s quite exhausted after his flight from Bavaria.  _Duty calls_ , he muses to himself, now scanning the rural area he decided to conceal himself in until he knows who the other  _Meister_  are. “Why haven’t you?”

“ _Meister_ ,” Lancer looks amused to Michael. “I believe time will tell…”

“Do I have to use my Command Seal?” Michael grits at his Servant.

“That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?” Lancer sighs dramatically. “Kids these days… so impulsive.”

“ _Ein Griechischman_ …” Michael is already contemplating. Admittedly, he hasn’t read much Greek myths growing up. He knows basic heroes and mythical creatures like  _deine_   _Zw_ _ö_ _lf Olympianiken_ , Heracles, Hydra…  _Well, it’s not like there are a lot of known German heroes to start with_ , Michael shakes his head mentally. “Heracles would be of the Berserker class, he’s nothing but brutal force… offense intended, but you don’t come off as a barbaric brute.”

“I’d like to think of it as a compliment _, Meister_ ,” Lancer grins guilelessly.

“Lancer?” Lancer tilts his head to the side, his blond curls bouncing. “ _Lass uns ein bisscen Spaβ haben, ja?_ ”

 

Michael knows the other  _Meister_  in Western Europe who’d be the first to answer to the Grail’s call is Irish. They’re…  _acquaintances_  from the Mages Association. If that Irish bastard is lucky enough, he might summon an Irish hero, which, of course, means that he’d have a very strong Servant to deal with. Of course, given his own strong mana, his Servant shouldn’t be weak, regardless of his popularity, or lack of there of,  _in_   _Deutschland_.

“Are you done brooding,  _Meister_?” Lancer muses.

“Your Servant has a valid point, _Clifford_ ,” a voice rings in the empty alleyway Michael has walked into.

Michael doesn’t know if the other mage is stupid or decided to be honourable, but either way, he dodges the magical blast coming his way. He regains his balance and glares at Lancer.

“You are supposed to be on the lookout for me,” he grits out.

“My bad,  _Meister_ ,” Lancer looks way too amused. “I thought you already knew he was here.”

“Apparently not,” the Irish bastard emerges, his blue eyes sparkling evilly. “We’ve met before, have we not, Clifford?”

“Brief altercation, Horan,” Michael shrugs indifferently. “Knew you’d come for me.”

“Your father killed mine in the last Holy Grail War, I owe you a slow, painful death,” Horan states as though they were discussing what they’d have for dinner. “I’ll be a fine gentleman and let you choose the way you’ll be executed.”

“Aw, I assume this talk is just to distract me?” Michael coos. “ _Schild_.”

Michael lets out a short _heh_  sound as the missiles hit him the second his magical shield is activated. Horan looks unamused.

“If your protection magic got stronger, it’s not fun for me to kill you, Clifford,” Horan huffs. “Well, I guess I’ll just try harder.”

“You don’t know much combat magic, Horan, you just want your dog to do all your dirty work,” Michael corrects his opponent. “And, say, how are you to be so sure we aren’t the only  _Meister_ with our Servants?”

“What do you—”

Michael barely has the time to shield himself from the magical blasts that land in their way.

“The Grail’s call is a mighty thing,” the newcomer says in lieu of a greeting. “Surely you knew of that, Niall Horan?”

Horan curses as Michael readies himself to cast another shielding magic.

“How disappointing,” the other  _Meister_  clicks their tongue. “Two kids. This is too easy.”

“So you got Caster,” Michael nods at Lancer, who just rolls his eyes. “But without a powerful  _Meister_ , Caster will be useless.”

“There are other ways to replenish mana, young Clifford,” the 3rd  _Meister_  sounds bored. “I believe in introducing myself before killing my prey off. My name is Nikolina.”

“Ah, so you’re from one of the oldest mage bloodlines in Slavic countries,” Michael grunts low.

Nikolina gives a mocking curtsy.

“Lancer, finish her,” Michael orders.

Before Lancer can raise his  _dory_ , a blinding lightning enters the fighting ground, startling everyone.

“Rider,” Nikolina hisses before anyone else has figured out.

“Hello, Nikolina,” Rider has stormy moonstone-coloured eyes. “Remember me?”

“Yeah, you were my father’s Servant last Holy Grail War,” Nikolina growls.

“That I was,” Rider flaps their ethereal wings. They are on an equally as winged horse, pelt as dark as the new moon sky. “Now I’m someone else’s.”

“Where’s your  _Meister_ , Rider?” Michael silently casts the most fortified  _Schild_  he can cast on Lancer,  _go behind Rider_. “You cannot be—”

Another light and Michael curses.

“How…” Lancer cuts himself off, readying his  _dory_. “Looks like I’m not the only Greek Heroic Spirit this War…” Lancer’s cold, sky-blue eyes land on Archer, who just arrived. “Isn’t that so, Archer?”

Michael does a quick head-count. He got Lancer; Horan got Berserker; Nikolina got Caster; Rider’s  _Meister_  is observing elsewhere; and now, Archer and his  _Meister_  just arrived at the scene.

“Where are Assassin and Saber?” Archer’s  _Meister_ , Bradford accent thick, sounds displeased. “I was told  _everyone_  would be here…”

“Saber’s  _Meister_  has to be the Vessel,” Horan whispers to Michael. “Don’t worry, since we are the only acquaintances here, I say we hold a temporary truce.”

“Truce accepted,” Michael nods grimly.

“Horan,” Nikolina doesn’t sound happy. “Your father… he was not the most welcome last War…”

“Me old Pa is long dead,” Horan shrugs. “I don’t share his values.”

“Yet you heeded to the Summons,” the Brit  _Meister_  interjects. “Now, five out of seven… I say we take the others out when they’re not expecting it.”

“Oh, you’re quite wrong on the  _cinq_ ,  _mes_   _chers_ …”

Michael barely has the time to cast  _einen Schild_. The glow doesn’t reach Horan, who makes an unhappy sound as the rest of the  _Meister_  struggle to their feet.

“That was quite a bore,” Lancer thumps the ground with his  _dory_. “Assassin and…?”

“Call me Rosalie,” the 6th  _Meister_ , with voluptuous figure and eyes as dark as her wavy, waist-length hair, smiles in a sensuous way. “Rosalie LaFont.”

 _Rosalie LaFont_ , Michael smirks.  _My family’s old friend…_

 _“_ Michael, I see you’ve been Chosen yourself,” her blood-red lips stretch into a matching smirk. “Tell me, Michael, do you accept my proposal of alliance?”

“On one condition,” Michael jerks his chin in Horan’s direction. “This one has an Irish Berserker Summoned in the Irish lands… I say we include him in our little alliance.”

“Done,” Rosalie looks pleased. “Is this meeting over,  _mes chers?_ ”

Rider laughs loudly. “Oh, sweet little Mages… my Master has been listening on the entire time! She is readying herself to come in…”

“Rider, shut up,” the new  _Meister_  sounds young, but old enough to have a sharp tongue. “Ah, if it isn’t my least favourite Brit…”

“Ah, I see not only need I worry about an Irish, I also have to worry about a Scot?” the Bradford-native curls his lips in disdain. “Archer, we’re done here.”

Archer nods and picks the Mage up, and they take off.

“Well then,” Michael looks at the two non-allies. “What will you do?”

“We choose to ally ourselves,” Nikolina gives a nod to the Scot girl. “Until next time…”

⇚◊»

Michael left the first meeting place as soon as Rosalie told him when she and Rider reside until the War is over. Horan grunted low and asked his Berserker Servant to take them back to their little place in the Black Forest.

Exhausted, Michael starts stripping his clothes off until he’s nude, and wears nothing but the topaz amulet, topaz ring, and topaz anklet into the bathtub. He lets out a long moan when the scalding water relaxes his tired muscles. He can feel the mana thrumming from his topaz amulet, same with his ring and his anklet. The topaz stones were created from his own mana when he was merely  _elf Jahren_  and his  _Vater_  asked him to project his mana in shape of a stone. Michael, being a young, curious boy, wanted to see the result and as a reward to his advanced mana at such young age, he was given those jewelleries.  The amulet is to channel his mana, the ring is to project it, and the anklet is to heal himself were it a necessity. The metal his  _Vater_  used was gold, as it is the most powerful metal he can wield as a supplementary in a combat where he’d use his offensive mana.

Truly, the Cliffords aren’t known for offensive prowess, but Michael still learnt and became good at a few projection mana. His range is, unaided,  _drei_ metres. Aided with strong metals, his range can be increased tenfold.

“ _Meister_?” Lancer’s voice is tentative. Michael waves the door open, revealing the Servant to be nude. “Being in physical form drained me… you know it drained me more than I let on, especially on the first day…” confidently, the Servant strides towards Michael and surveys the large bathtub Michael is in, his sky-blue eyes darkening from desire. “My, my, my… you certainly don’t look like you  _aren’t_  interested…”

“What are you doing, Lancer?” Michael keeps his voice authoritative, ignoring his growing problem. “You are to… shouldn’t you be replenishing mana?”

“You  _know_  why I’m here…” Lancer’s voice drips like succulent, dripping honey. “You  _know_  how quickly I can replenish mana…”

“Oh?” Michael plays dumb as Lancer throws his legs over the tub’s edge and submerges himself, thighs soon bracketing Michael’s waist. “You’ve got to be more specific… _baby_.”

Lancer moans at the pet name.

Michael initiates the kiss, their kiss full of questions and desire. Lancer lets out moans and mewls alike, grinding his lush ass against Michael’s cock. He buries his dominant hand in tufts of Lancer’s golden curls, his other hand gripping the base of his cock and rubbing the slit against the Servant’s perineum.

“Gods…” Lancer pants, rutting his cock pathetically against Michael’s abs. “Please…  _Meister_ …”

“Mm, you sure are a Servant, alright…” Michael rasps out, mouthing at the neck beard the Heroic Spirit got going on.

Michael sinks his teeth into Lancer’s neck, suckling and licking at the spot until there’s a dark bruise left there. Purring, he moves onto the Servant’s left nipple just as the aforementioned Servant grows tired of the teasing and sinks down gracelessly onto his cock. Michael grunts low, welcoming the warmth his Lancer provides.

 _Mein Lancer_ , Michael realises with a wonder.

“Fuck, please…” Lancer whines, working himself on Michael’s cock, tears bejewelling his beauteous eyes. “Fuck,  _Meister_ , you feel so fucking good inside me…”

“You’re such a leech, no?” Michael growls, feeling his own mana increasing from this. “Fucking yourself on my cock like a whore…  _nein_ , you _are_  a whore, are you not? Or used to be…”

“ _Meister_!” Lancer cries out, his walls spasming around Michael’s cock. “M’not… fuck…”

“Shut up,” Michael rasps out, fucking into the same angle Lancer has been fucking himself into, learning that, indeed, is the Servant’s prostate. “I remember now… there was one Greek General… he was not even low-born… he was born to a slave mother in the ancient Sicily… of course… he didn’t have any choice in what he did…” he wraps a hand around Lancer’s neck, his mana circuits glowing; Lancer moans brokenly. Too soon, Lancer comes undone again, collapsing forward, their chests pressed together. “You got fucked for a living, and you spent your day’s spending on drugs. You caught the Sicilian King’s eyes when you were merely fourteen…” Michael ploughs deep inside and stays there, and Lancer’s eyes widen to the max as they climax together. The young  _Meister_  doesn’t bother pulling out as he continues with the story. “The King gave you everything you wanted—he even made you his official Consort… as a newly-appointed Royalty, you were given sword lessons… you soon realised you’re better than anyone in the Kingdom… you slipped away to the port and got fucked by the captain to sail away, to Crete… you became their General at the age of sixteen… Lukas of Sicily, it is my honour and great pleasure to have you as my Servant.”

Michael studies Lancer— _Lukas_ —as the servant recovers from his orgasms. Being the gentleman he is, he drains the tub and carries the General into their shared bedroom.

“It’s true,” Lukas begins, sounding ashamed of his past. “The Holy Grail only makes you a Spirit if you want something more than anything.”

“And what is that?”

Jade-grey meets sky-blue.

“A chance at being human.

⇚◊»

Michael watches Lukas getting into a pair of yoga leggings he bought a few days prior. He must admit, Lukas’ ass looks fan-fucking-tastic in them. The Servant just grumbles in Greek before they get into Michael’s queen-sized bed. It feels less lonely with Lukas’ breaths stirring his neck hair, the rise and fall of his chest in sync with his.

“ _Du bist ein…_ ”

 

Michael wakes up with a start when the first rays of the Sun sifts through the black blinds. He sees that Lukas is still sleeping and presses a kiss to his high cheekbones.

“No…” Lukas groans, turning away from Michael. “Wait… did I…?”

“I am very powerful, Lukas,” Michael chuckles. “I used my strongest metals to weave  _einen Schild_  for the night… you needn’t protect me throughout the night like you did before with other  _Meister_.”

“It’s my job to protect you,” Lukas looks like a baby lion cub with his hair mussed up, lips swollen from sleep. “I already failed once…”

“You won’t fail me,” Michael cups Lukas’ face and presses a tender kiss to the Servant’s temple. “I won’t rip you from your dream.”

 

 

Michael gets dressed in a pair of black leather trousers and a plain black jumper, topped with a black beanie. He gets the estimation of maybe three more full-powered nocturnal  _Schild_  before he will need to replenish his mana or find more strong metals. He is admittedly staring at Lukas as he walks in front of him, his ass greatly defined by the slashed black skinny jeans the tall Servant is wearing, and nothing on his gorgeous torso, other than the black-metal  _dory_.

“What is your  _dory_  made out of?” Michael can’t help but ask.

“It’s an ancient metal of the gods,” Lukas smirks cockily. “Forged from the blood of Ouranos and tears of Gaea… with a special ingredient.”

Michael arches his pierced eyebrow.

“The heart of my beloved…” Lukas’ eyes darken until they match the colour of his  _dory_. “I have no regrets… gods gifted me with this powerful weapon, and cursed me with Eternity…”

“‘ _Aimorragía’,”_  Michael hears the name of the  _dory_  in his mind. “‘Blood Tears.’”

“Now, don’t we have to meet Horan and Rosalie?”

 

 

Michael drives his  _Volkswagen Bug_  to the meetup place. Rosalie is already there, and Horan is nowhere to be seen, but Michael can sense Horan’s mana.

“Niall went to fetch coffees,” Rosalie explains, a huge, seductive smile on her face. “My Rider, as you might have guessed, is—”

“One of the Valkyries,” Horan interrupts, handing Michael a cup of large black coffee. “Wøden’s personal warriors.”

“Their eyes scared the shite out of me,” Horan shivers. “Wouldn’t want to be at the end of their spear.”

“I know their True Name,” Rosalie shrugs. “They are at least three-thousand years old.”

“Ah,” Lukas shifts, bemused. “I predate that.”

“ _Bien sûr,_   _grec guerri_ _è_ _re,”_  Rosalie sighs. “Niall and his Berserker—” the towering Heroic Spirit tilts his head. “—know of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. I believe we, as three Masters, in an alliance, need to do our sharing, too.”

“I do gemstone magic, and Clifford does a complicated projection magic in form of shields,” Horan starts. “And what do you do?”

“I can manipulate flowers,” Rosalie shrugs. “Comes in handy at a lot of times. Now, Niall… why do you and Michael hate each other?”

“His father allied with mine last War,” Horan grits. “My Pa was killed soon after.”

 

Two hours of boring strategy talk later, Michael heads back to his family manor. Lukas has since changed into something else more of his taste.

“You look stunning in that,” Michael praises his Servant when the Heroic Spirit walks out of the public washroom in the new clothes.

Michael is 191cm without any heels. He can tell that Lukas is around the same.

Now, the ancient Greek General is wearing a three-button black leather mini skirt that barely covers his shapely ass. He has on a black mesh bodysuit, something he never thought would look good on a light golden skinned, over-180cm-tall giant with killer sky-blue eyes. To make matters worse, Lukas is wearing a biker’s leather jacket, of course, in the shade of  _Mitternachtschwarz_.

“Do I look pretty,  _Meister_?” Luke purrs, the diamond fishnets more than a tad bit distracting for Michael once he realises his Servant has six-strap garter belt on.

“You really strive to look the best, don’t you, Lukas?” Michael rasps out, crowding the General against the wall of a random building. “I haven’t a care where I fuck your tight boy cunt, baby, so you might want to check your attitude.”

“Mm, you know I’m powerful enough to teleport you back to your manor?” Lukas bats his eyelashes.

And just like that, Michael finds himself back in his master bedroom. He makes a note to ask his Servant how he can command such magic when his breath is knocked out of his entire body from looking at the Servant in question.

“Like you said,” Lukas, somehow having shed his clothes so quickly, purrs as he places a dainty hand on his outer thigh, his other arm crooked. “I strive to look the best…”

Maybe it was a bad idea that Michael let Lukas have his credit card, because,  _fick mich…_

Michael forgot one crucial fact about Lukas.

Lukas is genderfluid.

Lukas crooks a dainty forefinger at Michael, and like a sailor to the Siren, Michael feels enchanted.

Michael’s greedy, entranced eyes gloss over the ‘outfit’ Lukas decided to don.

The Servant is wearing the sheerest, most revealing, and the most offensive shade of white possible, causing Michael’s cock to fatten up quicker than he imagined possible. The pure white offsets the golden, toned body Lukas possesses, and Michael wants to ruin Lukas in the most brutal way possible. The Greek has a flimsy bralette covering his pectorals, and a pair of thongs that barely cover his dick. The garter belt has six straps as well, attached to a pair of lace-top diamond fishnets.

“Why don’t you make your desires a reality?” Lukas purrs. “You want my ass, and my heart, I can sense that… I was gifted by the gods… did you really think I meant that lightly? After all, it’s kind of a surprise when you find out your grandmother is Aphrodite…”

 _Oh_.

“Now, now, Mikey…” Michael’s heart does a double backflip. “Sate me… show me how well you can  _replenish_  your mana…”

 

Michael activates the night’s  _Schild_  before he captures Lukas’ lips. They taste like passion and taunting allure, something he’d expect from the child of a sexual rapture goddess. He bars his forearm against Lukas’ throat, garnering a pleased moan from the Servant. He doesn’t waste time with prepping and just ploughs dead-on, letting out low grunts at the warm pressure around his cock.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Michael rasps, the circuits on his right forearm glowing as their mana starts to amplify. “My cock inside your slutty hole, stretching you out…” he whispers into Lukas’ ear as a whimper escapes from the Servant. “Our future is ours only if you believe in me, baby…”

“I—”

Michael cheats and uses a little bit of his projection magic to jab harshly into Lukas’ prostate until he comes in spurts, swearing in a frenzy.

“That felt too amazing to be true,” Lukas pants, eyes wide and full of lust. “Fuck, please…”

“Mm, I can do that over and over again until you’re nothing but an empty, drained,  _weak_  Servant,” Michael purrs, grinding easily and shallowly, making Lukas’ face contort from pain and pleasure. “Or, we can make a deal.”

He whispers a new Contract as they finish together, a sheen of black light shadowing them.

⇚◊»

“I don’t get this,” Horan growls as the trio meet for the second time. “Why do we want to find Saber’s Master?”

“Killing the Vessel will hasten the formation of the Holy Grail,” Rosalie explains just as Michael arrives.

 _You won’t get to see the Holy Grail, you idiots,_  Michael thinks to himself, making sure his Servant was out of everyone’s sight.


End file.
